Freezing The Iceman
by What's'SupWitChu
Summary: Mycroft is kidnapped by Sebastian Moran and is held hostage in a freezer which truly puts Moriarty's 'Iceman' theory to the test. However, the real question is if Sherlock it willing to step up and save his brother.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: hello dearests! Here is the first chapter of a potential story, a little different from anything I've done before, but I would love to know if you guys think I should continue. It is of course going to contain Holmes brotherly love with some Mycroft Whump! and possible hints at MorMor, but not a major focus on the latter. I hope you like my interpretation of Sebastian! I'm deeply sorry for issues in**__**characterisation, but I hope you enjoy :)**_

**_If you have the time do feel free to review xx_**

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It crept slowly around him at first, like death's shadowy blanket coming to take him by surprise. He wondered where the sudden chill was coming from, the one which was slowly trickling down his spine like the beginning of an icicle web.

Mycroft Holmes slowly returned back to consciousness as his cheek which was pressed against the floor burned not by fire, but by ice. It took a lot of will for him to get his eyelids to cooperate and cautiously start to open. His surroundings were considerably blurred; Mycroft vaguely noted this probably meant he had suffered a blow to the head at some point.

In his barley lucid state Mycroft was internally ashamed of how his awareness of the situation and thought patterns were so fragmented. He had no idea where he was or how he got there, all he did remember was returning home that evening and never making it to the front door. His security team where going to have to face some harsh consequences, that was for sure.

Mycroft rolled his head slightly to give some relief to his crushed cheek, and as his vision began to clear he realised how dull his surroundings truly were. There was nothing covering the small walls that entrapped him; in fact the whole place was completely bare. He was at the back of the confined space, facing the heavy metal door which was taunting him with the possibility of escape, but Mycroft knew that it would be locked.

The elder Holmes' head was telling him to get up and deduce the situation properly, but his body was taking the opposite approach and telling him to stay curled up on the floor no matter how ridiculous he looked. Mycroft wanted to sleep, unusual since he could normally fight the basic need well but right then he wanted nothing more than to drift. However, he knew this was a very bad idea if he was in fact concussed, and Mycroft listened to his head above all else.

With that, Mycroft struggled to push himself up as only then did he realise just how much his hands were shaking, but it was not just his hands, it was his hold body trembling like a leaf in the wind;if there was one thing Mycroft Holmes hated more than anything it was to be seen as weak and frail, but it was so god damn cold.

And that's when he realised why he was so cold as he propped his upper body up on frozen palms, still on shaky knees. Mycroft let out a trembling breath and watched it swirl in front of him, relishing the freedom before disappearing completely. He had been locked in a freezer.

It appeared that the cold was already taking its toll on Mycroft's highly established mind; it would usually never have taken him so long to come to such a simple conclusion.

He finally stood up, legs trembling like never before. Although he initially brushed down his still intact suit, he then wrapped his arms firmly around his chest and started rubbing his arms furiously. Sense told him that this would not bring up his body temperature at all, but Mycroft wanted to try and battle the bite and sense was perhaps already leaving him; one of his biggest fears in the world, other than watching his little brother perish. Yes, Mycroft Holmes has fears; he is human after all.

Mycroft managed to slowly drag his eyes around the room, but there was really nothing to deduce in the frustrating emptiness. No windows, just the door. He slowly made his way over to the structure, his feet almost dragging across the floor. He placed a hand on the door when he reached it, but then immediately snapped back as it was unbearably cold - he feared his fingers might become attached.

Quickly rapping his knuckles on the door and listening, Mycroft deduced the thickness of the metal - far too thick to bother calling for help. He then studied the lock, again, it seemed impenetrable and he did not even have anything to try and break it or even pick it with.

Giving up with that part, Mycroft started to move - with painfully slow and shaky steps - around the rest of the freezer. The walls were all solid as expected. Eventually, he came across the faintest red smear on one of the walls - blood. He bent down to sniff it cautiously -not human, pig, likely from some cut meat, perhaps the freezer was in an old restaurant used the store the food.

Mycroft sighed with despair and watched as his breath spiralled and disappeared again. That had pretty useless. Other than that, Mycroft could guess the temperature was at or below -23 degrees Celsius, and he had been in there long enough to start developing mild symptoms of hypothermia. Whoever had kidnapped him clearly did not want him dead. Yet. But Mycroft had too many enemies to even begin to guess who was behind this and he refused to accept the obvious choice.

Although Mycroft had little to go on concerning where he was, the question of who had brought him there seemed it could soon be answered as the sound of the door being unlocked brought Mycroft to his full attention - well, the attention he was capable of with a cold riddled brain.

The elder Holmes stood strong, his arms folded in a rather impatient manner and an eyebrow raised to signal he was severely unimpressed. However, he had to show great control and suppression of the shivers wracking his normally well held frame.

"Oh, well this is a surprise" Mycroft's voice dripped with sarcasm as the door opened and his captor came into view.

The way the man held himself like a solider, the all black attire like the uniform of a killer, but more importantly the instantly recognisable scar which ran across the man's left eye. Ex-solider, dishonourably discharged for going AWOL, on the run for years now and on Britain's most wanted list, Moriarty's right-hand man; Sebastian Moran.

"The boss is sorry he can't be here..." If people thought Mycroft sounded emotionless, then Sebastian was a machine. "But he has more important people to attend to" he smirked.

"What exactly is the point in me being here if he cannot grace me with his presence?" Mycroft asked, only hoping his voice would not betray him yet.

"Don't need him, I'm in charge" Sebastian affirmed.

Mycroft scoffed with derision "please, you're his pet"

"People care for their pets" Sebastian shrugged "which is more than can be said for you. Does anyone really care for the great Mycroft Holmes?" He asked with openly malicious intent.

Mycroft's expression deepened into a frown and he was suddenly more aware of the cold than before.

"Caring is n-not an a-advantage" Mycroft silently cursed himself for the way his words trembled but his expression remained as firm as possible.

Sebastian, however, appeared to revel in Mycroft's suffering and smirked gleefully.

"We'll see if your dear little brother agrees" the madman teased "If he actually takes your words of wisdom and they come back to bite you in the..."

"That's why you're doing this?" Mycroft interrupted "To get to Sherlock?" He asked incredulously. "Well I really was the wrong choice. It will never work"

Sebastian let out a cold-hearted laugh "oh yeah, your own brother doesn't love you enough to come and save you, the jokes really on us" he said sarcastically.

Mycroft went to bite back with a retort, but by his own shame he closed his mouth again and looked at the floor. Surely Sherlock did not hate him that much that he would just leave him to die? Mycroft accepted that they had their differences, but he did not know what he would do if anything happened to Sherlock. There was a difference between not liking someone and not loving them.

"People will already realise I'm gone" Mycroft spoke lowly, almost in a mumble now.

"And I'll be ready for them if they come" Sebastian said with danger and aggression in his voice "you take on a madman you get what you deserve"

"W-why here?" Mycroft asked.

Sebastian looked surprised before spreading his arms wide in dramatic gesture - very much in Moriarty's style. "You are the iceman, this is your castle. You thrive here" he stated.

"How v-very clev-ver" Mycroft attempted to mock but all he really wanted to do was collapse, sleep and not ever get up.

"James sees it as a sort of experiment" Sebastian explained "You see, you're the iceman because your emotions are numb. So, in theory, this shouldn't be a problem for you if you are as numb as they say. But, which will make you go numb first? the cold, or the fear of being left here to die" Sebastian smiled gleefully then.

"You w-won't..."Mycroft stammered, but he could not take it anymore and fell the ground. His legs were shaking too much to support his weight and his breathing was becoming erratic.

"Won't what? Get away with it?" Sebastian leered. "I think we will just by your own admission. Sherlock's not coming for you" With that, the henchman turned and opened the door, stepping outside. He paused and turned back to Mycroft. "Interesting, this must be the start of hell actually freezing over" he smiled, before striding out and slamming the door shut.

Mycroft - not quite caring how pathetic he looked now - practically crawled his way over to the far corner of the frozen box. Taking off his jacket with trembling fingers, he curled up and threw the garment over himself like a blanket. He knew it would have very little effect, but all he could do was fight to survive in anyway he could. He would not leave Sherlock on his own again. He had promised.

No, Sherlock would not leave him here to die. The younger Holmes could be an annoying brat, but he was not malicious. Mycroft believed in his brother.

He believed in Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****Hello my lovelies! Thank you very much for everyone who has followed, favourited, reviewed and just read the first chapter, you all make me smile XD I hope you continue to enjoy! **

**If you have the time I would love to hear from you :) **

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John returned to the flat to the frantic shrilling of the landline and the deep humming vibration of Sherlock's mobile ringing at the same time. The doctor sighed when he found Sherlock sat at his laptop, blatantly ignoring what the detective would probably see as an unnecessary racket.

"Has it not occurred to you that if someone wants your attention this badly that it must be important?" John had to call over the noise.

"To them perhaps" Sherlock replied as he continued typing.

John rolled his eyes with exasperation before picking up the phone.

"Hello? Oh, hello, Anthea"

This immediately caught Sherlock's attention and he swivelled around in his seat. Mycroft had always called him personally, never had he asked his secretary - whatever her name was and Sherlock could not stand each other, so something must be up with Mycroft for her to reach out to him.

"Okay, okay slow down" John said as he placed a hand to his forehead to try and process things. "What do you mean Mycroft's missing?"

Sherlock felt his stomach sink and he gripped the arms of his chair a little bit tighter. Mycroft could not be missing, he had all that security...maybe it was just a trick to get him down to work a case - though Mycroft had never been one for joking around. But his big brother could not just be gone...

"Okay, we'll be down in two" John said before hanging up and then looking around at Sherlock. He did not know what he was expecting, but it certainly was not the the look of almost Incomprehension the detective seemed to be wearing.

"When is the car arriving" Sherlock asked as he snapped out of his stupor and snatched up his scarf and coat.

"About three minutes" John said "Mycroft didn't make it home tonight, Anthea said the CCTV shows him being attacked and taken from just outside his house"

"Right" Sherlock said -not looking at John -before hurrying out the flat with the doctor loyally following him.

"Are you okay?" John asked as they waited on the edge of the pavement. Sherlock seemed to be almost bouncing on the tip of his toes as he looked impatiently up and down the road.

"Yes, fine, why wouldn't I be" Sherlock assured him, probably more strongly and quickly than he should have.

"Well, your brother had just been kidnapped..." John said tentatively, and wondered if Sherlock was somewhat in denial of the true extent of the situation.

"Yes, taking up my time as always when I have better things to be doing" Sherlock jibed, but this only caused John even more worry - definitely in denial.

"We'll find him" John affirmed anyway "You'll, find him"

Sherlock frowned "obviously, I'm brilliant, as you so often tell me" John did not deny this, just gave his friend a reassuring smile. "I just have to see this as any other case, any other..." Sherlock paused; he could not bring himself to label his powerful and protective brother a victim.

"The game is most definitely on" John said with determination, and he could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smirk form in the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

"About time" Sherlock growled as one of Mycroft's notorious black cars finally appeared at the top of the street.

Sherlock flagged it down, and just moments later he and his blogger were on their way to Mycroft's estate to meet Anthea.

* * *

They arrived to find Anthea already stood at the door waiting for them. She was still armed with her trusty blackberry typing away frantically, probably trying to organise some kind of search and get in contact with the right people.

"It's about time" she snapped as Sherlock and John approached the house and she immediately led them inside.

"Well, there's no need for that" Sherlock mumbled and Anthea shot him a look like daggers.

"Sherlock, now is not the time" John warned - he couldn't be doing with breaking up a fight right now. "What do you know, Anthea?"

"The CCTV that Mr Holmes has on the exterior of the house caught the abduction, as well as the abductor" she explained. "I haven't got the police involved yet, just personal security"

"Surely this guy must have known Mycroft would have security measures all over the place" John pondered aloud "why didn't he take out the security cameras?"

"Because he wanted to be seen" Sherlock said in his usual 'that's so obvious' manner "remember what I said about some criminals wanting an audience? You don't successfully kidnap the most powerful man in England and not want to boast about it"

"Well, whatever makes it easier for us to find Mycroft" Anthea said as they entered Mycroft's office. His computer could be used to observe the CCTV footage.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow "Oh, you're on a first name basis now..."

All it took was a firm "Sherlock..." from John that time and the detective fell silent.

"Watch this" Anthea said as she took a seat and started to play the footage.

The recording showed Mycroft reaching the front door of the house. He put his briefcase down and started to rummage around in his coat pocket for his keys. That was when the attacker appeared from nearby. He was holding a gun, the handle of which he used to hit Mycroft on the back of the head. The elder Holmes fell limply to the ground and the man started to drag him away.

John glanced over at Sherlock and he was worried by the almost panicked look in the detective's eye. Obviously seeing his strong big brother being made to look so helpless was coming as a shock to the younger Holmes.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John asked again.

"I'm fine" Sherlock replied, sounding a lot less sure than he had earlier.

John gave him a small smile and then turned his attention back to the screen. The man's face had turned so he was now looking directly at the camera. The corner of his lip curled up into smile of victory but also as if he was trying to endear them into the game.

John's eyes widened. That scar...that scar on the man's face. "Stop it there!" He commanded and Anthea did so as he leaned in to take a closer look.

"John?" Sherlock said with a frown.

"I know him!" John exclaimed "I know that man"

"How?" Anthea asked, just as confused as Sherlock.

"His name is Sebastian Moran and he's an ex-sniper from the army. I treated that wound he has on his face. I don't know exactly what happened to him, but about a week later rumour started spreading that he was discharged for accidentally shooting one of his own men - he was ruled not of sound mind."

"Of course, I've heard that name before" Anthea said as she pulled back and started rummaging around until she pulled out a file. "Mr Holmes has managed to link Moran to a string of crimes, but evidence has yet to be definitive enough. He's like a shadow, almost impossible to track"

"Sounds like someone else we know" Sherlock spoke up after being unusually quiet.

John looked at him as the realisation started to sink in "you can't mean..."

"Think about it, Moran is a solider, he's use to taking orders, he wouldn't carry this out on his own, and why would he need to? Look at his physique, he's clearly the brawn, and his history with weapons makes him the perfect field agent whilst the brains of the operation observes from high"

"So you think Moriarty is behind this?" Anthea affirmed.

"Moran had the opportunity to kill Mycroft - he knocked him unconscious with a gun for god sake - but he didn't, because they need Mycroft alive. Moriarty needs him to try and get to me"

"But where do we even begin looking for them?" John asked. They could know it was Moriarty, but he could be anywhere by now - his web spanned the globe.

"That I...I don't know" Sherlock admitted with great reluctance but also annoyance which was probably aimed at himself.

Suddenly, Sherlock's mobile started to ring. He checked it absentmindedly and found it was an unknown caller. It didn't appear to be an international number...

Glancing at John - who gave him a stiff nod - Sherlock answered the call with cautious anticipation.

"Yes"

"I believe I have something of yours..." a smug voice responded.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello my dearests! Thank you for the feedback and just for basically reading this story XD I'm starting to lose confidence in it a little, but you guys seem to be enjoying so far. Well, we check back in with poor Mycroft in this chapter and we'll see what Moran has to say, plus mentions of MorMor. I hope you like it and I'm sorry about characterisation.**

**Feedback would be wonderful :) xx**

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Mycroft was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. The tremble wracking his whole body was so hard that he wondered if it would ever cease. He was completely buried underneath his suit jacket and it was now offering no protection from the bite of the ice whatsoever.

He kept running through small mental exercises in his head to keep his mind as sharp as possible; Mycroft knew one of the first symptoms of hypothermia was confusion and loss of rational thought. His mind was his most powerful weapon, and if he ever lost that then he would truly have nothing, and he would be no use to anyone - especially his brother.

Mycroft had initially toyed with the idea that Sherlock may actually come for him and everything would fall back into balance, that they could catch Moran and that would lead them to Moriarty, that it could all be over. However, now as time slowly wore on (Mycroft was slightly panicked by the fact he had no real sense of time anymore) he was having serious doubts, not about Sherlock's ability, but about if the younger Holmes actually cared enough to find him.

"My!" A voice called. Mycroft frowned from beneath his jacket; that sounded like...impossible. Only one person got away with calling him that name, and they hadn't so in years. "My, get up, Lazy!"

"Sherlock?" The elder Holmes said in a confused tone which was below a whisper; it was all he could muster.

Mycroft dubiously lowered the corner of his jacket to see a bouncing mop of brown curls attached to a curious head and thin body kneeling beside him. He recognised the boy to be his little brother, his very little bother, who appeared to be only eight years old.

"You can't sleep now!" Little Sherlock protested "it's dangerous, the east wind is coming, My!"

"I'm a-afraid it h-has already p-passed" Mycroft stuttered. "And the ch-chill it's has l-left behind will s-soon take m-me"

Deep at the back of his mind Mycroft knew the vision of his innocent brother was not real, that this Sherlock was a figment of his confused and cold ridden brain. However, the older Holmes could not help but find some comfort in the bright boy being right beside him.

Younger Sherlock's face fell "Don't say that, My, you said you'd always be there for me." The detail of the figment was astounding - Mycroft noted - as tears started to form in Sherlock's eyes.

"I k-know, I'm s-sorry" Mycroft knew he should be saving his breath, but he had always hated seeing Sherlock upset.

"I'll find you" Sherlock suddenly said, his eyes gleaming with determination "just like when we use to play hide and seek, I'll find you!"

"Th-this is m-much b-bigger th-than..." Mycroft did not finish; the effort was too much.

"But it's just like a game! I never turn down a game" Sherlock pointed out. "Don't be sad, My, you know I get sad too when you are"

When Mycroft looked up that time, Sherlock was gone, and he found himself somewhat wishing the boy would come back. Mycroft had never minded being alone before but this, when he was possibly facing the gates of death, this was different. Who would protect that little boy if he was gone?

Mycroft's eyes flickered closed. "I'm sorry" he whispered, barely audible, before drifting into oblivion once more.

* * *

"Where is he?" Sherlock commanded through gritted teeth. He was hoping to quench the growing sense of fear with overbearing anger; he could not let Moran know he had got right under Sherlock's skin.

"Now,now, we're jumping a head of ourselves a little bit" Moran chided;the smirk was implied.

"This stops now, Sebastian, Sebastian Moran" Sherlock hoped to shake the man a little by suggesting they already knew about him. However, the problem was that men (monsters) like Sebastian felt they had nothing to hide and thrived at being recognised for their work.

"Oh, the great Sherlock Holmes knows my name, I am honoured..."

"Where is Mycroft?!" Sherlock yelled, not willing to listen to the sniper's garbage when for all he knew his big brother was dying.

"Hmm, now that is interesting" Sebastian mused "You actually sound like you care...how very pathetic, I'm sure Mycroft would not approve"

Sherlock was stunned for a moment as his brother's own words - caring is not an advantage- echoed through his head. Well, Sherlock had taken no notice of them before and he was not going to start now. Yes, Mycroft saw caring as disadvantageous, yet he still tried to protect Sherlock through somewhat extreme means, and now, Sherlock felt he should return the favour.

"I know you didn't call just to mock me" Sherlock stated, his tone now far more calm and controlled "so what is it you want?"

"I want to tell you a story" Sebastian said. "You see, I first met James Moriarty on the twenty third of December, two thousand and eight. It was outside Lucia's Italian restaurant, I was homeless at the time, no one wants to employ a war veteran gone loony..."

"What the _hell_ does this have to do with Mycroft!?" Sherlock interrupted, his patience wearing thin once more.

"I'm getting there" Sebastian said snidely "anyway, Jim found me, bought me dinner in that restaurant, took me home and then...well, you don't need to know about that. I'm not really one for charity, but when he told me he wanted to hire me as his personal assassin then how could I refuse? I love the thrill of a kill...the bloodier the better"

Sherlock placed his hands over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he could not deal with this; he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He was suddenly aware of John being beside him as the doctor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Just tell me he's not dead..." Sherlock requested in a low voice which sounded almost defeated. There was only silence "_Please_"

"I'm not entirely sure to be honest" Sebastian replied nonchalantly and something within Sherlock clenched. "Let's have a look shall we? I'll patch you through"

"Sherlock..." Anthea breathed from behind them, and the detective and John turned to see the footage on the screen had changed.

Sherlock felt his fingers begin to tremble as he edged towards the screen. Everything was bare, blank, except for the image of Mycroft, huddled up in the far corner, and he appeared to be so incredibly still.

"You...you locked him in a freezer" Sherlock stammered in disbelief.

He could see the frost which had started to settle in Mycroft's hair, and the only sign he was alive was the ever so slight hint of visible breath due to the ice. But still; his brother was freezing the death.

"Freezing the iceman, clever, don't you think?" Sebastian taunted. "Of course I can't take all the credit. Now, he's been in there for quite a while already. At this length of time with that temperature I would say he has...maybe twenty minutes at best..."

"Bastard!" Sherlock yelled. "Where. Is. He"

"I've already you!" Sebastian argued "You just weren't listening. There's a point to every story, Sherlock Holmes" and with that the line went dead.

"No!" Sherlock shouted as he threw the phone across the room and it shattered against the wall.

"Sherlock, calm down" John said soothingly. "If you're in too much of a state to think then it isn't going to help Mycroft" he pointed out.

"I know, I know" Sherlock said as he took some deep steady breaths. "we don't have much time, John..."

"Just think" John instructed "use your mind palace I'd you have to, forget everything else, and think"

"Yes ,yes" Sherlock said as he closed his eyes and started to rub his temples. "There's a point to every story" he mumbled "there's a point to every story..."

'_What the hell does this have to do with Mycroft!?'_

_'Im getting there...'_

And then it dawned on Sherlock. "The restaurant!" He exclaimed, almost giddy at the realisation "Moran told me a story about how he met Moriarty outside Lucia's restraunt"

"That place has been closed for about a year" John commented.

"So no one will go there, perfect for holding someone captive" Sherlock countered. "Come on, we have to go, now! Anthea prepare law enforcement and medical assistance, but do not permit them near the premise until I say so"

"Alright" Anthea would not usually take lightly to being ordered around by Sherlock, but she understood he was just trying to do what was best for his brother.

"Let's move" Sherlock said, and his coat flurried behind him as he swiftly darted from the room, John following at his heels.

"Doesn't it seem a bit easy?" John asked as they ran "that Moran would outright tell you where Mycroft is"

"Yes" Sherlock admitted "which is why we must be cautious of traps"

"What if this is all just one big trap?" John countered as they managed to haul a cab.

Sherlock had already considered he fact, but he replied without hesitance "This is our only clue, I can't risk Mycroft, and I will not lose him. Besides you have your gun, don't you?"

"Why would I have my..." Sherlock shot him a look. "Yeah, I don't even know why I try hiding things from you anymore" the doctor conceded.

They climbed into the cab and things fell silent as Sherlock turned to look out of the window and his thoughts drifted to his brother. He had to be right. Besides, Mycroft couldn't leave him; he had promised.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello lovelies! Wow, I feel a lot better about this story thanks to your amazing comments, so thank you so much for those and thank you to all those who are still reading! Just to warn you Sherlock is OOC in this chapter, but I was desperate for some brotherly love so I couldn't help it XD The rescue has commenced and I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**Reviews would be splendid :) xx **

* * *

Sherlock and John arrived at the abandoned building just ten minutes after they left Mycroft's home. Sherlock jumped out of the cab as soon as the driver pulled over and John scrambled for some cash, shouting 'keep the change' before hurrying after his friend.

Sherlock tried to wrench the front doors open in vain; they were bolted shut. The detective slammed his palms against them and let out a frustrated growl before running down the side of the building to try a back entrance.

"Sherlock!" John called as he tried to keep up. "Sherlock, you can't just barge in. What if Moran is waiting for us!"

"He wouldn't kill me" Sherlock responded as he stopped at a side door and knelt down to study the handle. "That joy belongs to Moriarty. Well, if I ever really give him the chance"

"What about me?!" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock paused and looked up at his friend. "You won't give him the chance either." He said confidently; nor will I.

"Damn right about that" John mumbled as he pulled his gun out from inside his jacket. "What you got?" He asked as Sherlock was rummaging around in his own coat.

"This door has been opened recently but it's locked" Sherlock stated.

He found what he was looking for - a thin strand of metal from what John could tell - but it took the detective mere seconds to pick the lock - they only had mere seconds too, if what Moran said was true then Mycroft only had minutes.

"Here" John said as he handed Sherlock his phone which had the light turned on as they entered the dank and dark building. Sherlock took the device and led the way.

"The kitchen" Sherlock instructed, and the men hurried through what used to be the dining room.

The place seemed to be empty but John was on high alert nonetheless. Sherlock on the other hand seemed to be not at all his usual well thought out self. When he entered the kitchen and saw the small light seeping out from underneath, only then did the detective realise how erratically his heart was beating. His brother was in there freezing to death.

When Sherlock reached the door, the last obstacle separating him from Mycroft, he was enraged to find a code was needed to unlock the electronic system - this was no simple lock picking.

"That bastard didn't say anything about a code" Sherlock growled.

"Well if he told you about the restaurant he must have mentioned the code" John knew it was a long shot but he could see the desperation in Sherlock's eyes and the need to have his brother back safe. "So, just like before, take a deep breath and think"

Sherlock nodded and started to rub at his temples once more._ The key pad only has numbers on it, so the code can't be a word. Moran has already shown he's sentimental by picking this restaurant_...the thought hit Sherlock like a tidal wave.

"The date!" He exclaimed "Moran gave me the date of when he first met Moriarty." With that he punched in the numbers: 23122008.

There was a beep approval and Sherlock almost smiled with relief, but then he remembered what was awaiting him beyond that door. After a moment of hesitation to prepare himself, Sherlock pulled the door open and peered inside. Nothing could have prepared him for that sight.

Just from being stood in the open door Sherlock started shivering. He wrapped his coat tighter around his slender frame, but it was not the cold which had really frozen him in place, but rather the sight of his unconscious brother slumped in the far corner looking paler than Sherlock had ever seen. It was only when John rushed past him to tend to his new patient that Sherlock broke out of his stupor.

The doctor knelt down beside Mycroft and immediately pressed two fingers against the elder Holmes' neck in search of a pulse. John frowned and Sherlock immediately felt something which had been threatening to consume him all night; pure fear.

"Is...is he..." The detective stuttered.

"He's alive" John affirmed "but only just, his pulse is very faint and it's not frequent. We have to get him out. Wrap your arms around his waist to lift him and I'll grab his legs" John instructed. It was unusual for him to take charge but for once Sherlock knew he needed the guidance - Mycroft would probably have laughed.

The detective nodded and in a matter of seconds they had Mycroft out of that hellish trap. Without even thinking, Sherlock took off his coat and sat beside his brother, wrapping the garment around Mycroft and then holding the older Holmes so tightly to his chest John wondered if Sherlock would ever let go.

"He's freezing." It was probably the most idiotic thing Sherlock had ever said - Mycroft would have scoffed if he had heard him - but he was still in disbelief.

"I know, but do not move" John instructed firmly "I'm afraid your body heat may be the only thing keeping him alive right now."

His voice was grave, and - although he had not thought it possible - Sherlock just held onto his brother tighter, pulled him closer. Just holding Mycroft felt like a block of ice against his skin and it made Sherlock shudder, but Mycroft was depending on him, and he would not let his brother down.

"He's certainly got severe hypothermia" John concluded after some very basic checks. "Now we know the coast is clear I'm going to call in the medical. Just hang on, okay?"

Sherlock nodded stiffly and John went to get help. The younger Holmes started to rub his brother's arm absentmindedly, trying to provide any heat he could. He was not at all pleased that he could not feel Mycroft breathing himself, but Sherlock supposed that was common in hypothermia and he trusted John's judgement.

"Just hang on" Sherlock repeated his friend's words and nuzzled his nose into Mycroft's frosty hair - it was a way the older brother helped to comfort Sherlock when the latter had a nightmare when they were children.

Although Sherlock was worried about his brother taking his last breath, there was also a rage building inside him at the man (monster) who did this to his brother. Maybe that was how Mycroft felt when someone tried to harm Sherlock.

"I've found you" Sherlock mumbled "and when I find him I'll..."

He didn't finish his threat as at that moment John came in along with some paramedics. Everyone was talking and moving so fast. Sherlock felt someone slightly tugging at Mycroft.

"No..."Sherlock mumbled as he only gripped onto his brother tighter.

"Sherlock" John knelt down in front of his friend and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, you can let go now"

"B-but you said..."

"I know, but the medics are here now to get Mycroft to hospital. They're going to put in an IV drip and the fluid will help warm him for now"

Sherlock nodded once and than quite reluctantly relinquished his grip on his brother and watched the medics prepare Mycroft and then start to move him to the awaiting ambulance.

"Sir, are you coming?" One of the medics asked Sherlock.

"Yes" Sherlock responded immediately and jumped to his feet.

"I'll follow you down" John said "everything will be fine."

Sherlock found this a rather useless sentiment given the circumstances, but he gave a firm nod nonetheless and then hurried after the medics.

It was so strange for Sherlock to see Mycroft like that. His suit - worn like armour - had mostly been removed and he was as white as a sheet. His big powerful brother looked so small and fragile all of a sudden, and that moved something within Sherlock. Mycroft - mostly to Sherlock's distain - had always done his best to protect his brother, but now Sherlock had had to return the favour and felt like he had failed.

Yes they had a very strained relationship for serious reasons and frankly some childish ones, but Sherlock would never wish his brother dead, never say he would not care if Mycroft was gone. There was a difference between him not liking Mycroft sometimes because of the decisions he made and the power he flaunted to interfere, but Sherlock loved him because he was his brother; though he would never tell Mycroft that of course.

Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts when he was aware of people rushing around him again, and his eyes flicked over to the heart rate monitor attached to Mycroft. The little pulse his brother had was slowing.

"Prepare defibrillators" one of the medics said and Sherlock continued to watch the screen with wide eyes.

And then a droning monotonic peep rang out.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello lovelies! Sorry it's been a while, I've had a bit of writers block. This will be the final chapter and I hope you have enjoyed this story :) Thank you for the continued support from everyone who has reviewed, favourited, followed and read. I think this chapter is OOC just to warn you. I have a lot more story ideas but if you guys have any requests then let me know!**

**Reviews would be marvellous :) xx**

* * *

Mycroft wanted to open his eyes but the lids just felt so heavy and he did not want to return back to the ice cold monster which he was currently encapsulated in; he was safe in his own mind, always had been. However, it was a mixture between joy and fear when Mycroft realised he did not feel as cold anymore. Had he somehow escaped, been found? Or was he finally succumbing to cold and his senses were numbing until he would feel no more.

It was with great burden that Mycroft finally found the strength to slowly prise his eyes open and study his surroundings. He was surprised to find them quite bare, yet he was not inside the freezer anymore. Instead he just appeared to be surrounded by shades of darkness – blacks and greys – except for the little figure which was huddled in the corner. Mycroft would recognise that sulking mop of curls anywhere.

"What's the matter?" he asked, momentarily startled by the rasp of his own voice.

Sherlock – the same eight year old version he had envisioned before - got up and trudged over to his brother's side before plonking down and folding his arms in a huff.

"You aren't playing properly" the young boy complained.

"What do you mean?" Mycroft asked. He tried to sit up right but it was like he was suddenly made of lead and his body was telling him to stay down.

"You said it was like a game of hide and seek, and I found you" Sherlock said seriously "but you're not still supposed to be asleep! Did you get bored of waiting? I wasn't that long. Didn't you trust me to find you?"

"No, of course I trust you" Mycroft said sincerely "but how can I be asleep if I'm talking to you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Idiot, I'm not eight years old anymore, am I?"

"Ah, I see" Mycroft said as he rather embarrassedly realised his own stupid mistake.

"So I'm still waiting for you to wake up" Sherlock said "and you know how much I hate waiting"

"Apologies" Mycroft said despite himself, although he knew it would do nothing to aid the situation.

"Don't apologise!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Just do something about it"

"I want to" Mycroft gasped, pained by the sudden crack in his voice he looked away to hide the humiliation "but I don't know if I can."

"Well…you can't leave me waiting forever"

Mycroft turned back to his brother to find he had already disappeared and he found himself wishing the boy would come back; he didn't want to be alone in this anymore.

"Alright" Mycroft said to nothingness "Alright, I'm coming" and his eyes closed once more.

* * *

John was concerned but not at all surprised when he returned to the hospital that day to find Sherlock still sat by his brother's bedside, looking very deep in thought but like he almost feared if he looked away then Mycroft would slip away once more.

It had been very touch and go for a while. Just as John had suspected, Mycroft had contracted a severe case of hypothermia. He had only learnt about the elder Holmes flat lining in the ambulance from one of the medics – Sherlock had not spoken a word since and John wondered if it had shocked him beyond repair; he'd watch his brother actually _die._

Fortunately they were able to bring Mycroft back but still, the elder Holmes had been unconscious for two days now. His core temperature was slowly rising though, which was a very good sign.

"You should sleep, or at least eat something" John tried to reason with his friend, but he should have known by now that telling Sherlock about his body's needs was like talking to a brick wall.

"He's just disappeared" Sherlock finally spoke, his voice hoarse from lack of use. "Moran, he's just…it really was just a game to keep themselves entertained." His fist clenched on his thigh as he tried to bite down the aggression inside him.

"I know" John said "but going out and seeking vengeance is not the important thing right now. Making sure Mycroft is okay is what you need to do."

Sherlock nodded weakly and looked back at his brother's still and very pale form. He knew it was his turn now, to be the protector and source of comfort; no doubt he would be terrible at it, but he knew Mycroft would appreciate it anyway. It had scared Sherlock beyond belief when his brother's heart had stopped beating and he didn't want to accept the fact. Only then had he realised how much Mycroft was a part of his life, and although it annoyed the hell out of him most of the time he didn't want it to end.

"I need to get to work" John informed his friend. "I'll be back later, everything will be fine" he gave Sherlock a weak smile, who in turn gave a nod of acknowledgement.

When he was alone with his brother again, Sherlock reached out and tentatively took hold of Mycroft's still disturbingly cold hand. He himself had awoken many times from drug induced hazes to find his older brother sat holding him and looking worse for wear – now Sherlock finally knew how that felt; the worry.

Sherlock studied their entwined hands for a moment before looking up to his brother's placid face, only to go wide eyed in shock when he realised Mycroft was looking back at him.

"Hello, brother mine" Mycroft said in a low voice and then coughed from the dryness in his throat.

"I…" Sherlock started, and then realising with somewhat horror and humiliation he was still clutching Mycroft's hand pulled back and jumped from his seat. "Just erm…checking your pulse" he stammered "I don't trust those monitor things"

"Yes" was Mycroft's rely as he didn't quite know what else to say.

"The doctor said you would be fine" Sherlock said formally "Although you may feel the chill for a while"

Mycroft nodded before blurting out "I'm sorry"

Sherlock frowned "What for? This is the fault of Moran and Moriarty"

"I know but…" Mycroft sighed and looked down at the bedcovers. "I know you must have been annoyed at being so inconvenienced by me…"

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be an idiot, I wasn't just going to leave you…" he trailed off, the earlier feeling of embarrassment creeping up again.

"Did…did I…" Mycroft started hesitantly.

"Die?" Sherlock interrupted bluntly "Yes." There was a dangerous edge to his tone.

"I…"

"If you dare say you're sorry again I will not be held responsible for my actions" Sherlock said sternly. "Just…don't ever let anything like this happen to you again. This whole experience has made me feel rather…uncomfortable."

Mycroft gave his brother a faint smile; that was probably as close to words of kindness that he would ever get from Sherlock.

"Don't worry; I intend to never feel that cold ever again."

"Oh, you do realise we live in England?" Sherlock quipped.

The brother's shared a rare laugh together.

* * *

Mycroft's recovery was a long process, but once he was released from hospital the relationship he had with his brother went back to normal, well, almost. Moran was still out there and Sherlock had privately requested (commanded) that Anthea make sure Mycroft's security was heightened.

Mycroft went to visit his brother 3 days after he was away from hospital, case file in hand; naturally he could not stay away from work for long. Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table with an experiment when he arrived.

"Morning, brother mine" Mycroft said politely and went to make himself comfortable in John's chair without being asked.

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked robotically.

"A little off track given recent events" Mycroft replied.

"So…" Sherlock said as he dramatically scraped his chair back across the floor and approached Mycroft. "What extremely tedious…"

He paused when he saw his brother was shaking a little and rubbing his arms slightly with his still gloved hands; clearly he was still feeling the cold.

"I'll make tea first" Sherlock suddenly announced, and then as an after-thought got the fire going before busying himself in the kitchen.

Mycroft allowed a small smile to himself; he really was a very proud big brother.


End file.
